A/N: A tale within the 'Dear Rob' 'Verse, A Tale of Faerie, where Klink has the real Hob for a Fairy Godfather, Hogan becomes Cinderella for a night, and Klink takes Hogan dancing – told from Klink's POV.
As per usual, many many thanks to Kat, Wolfie and Snooky for being ace betas, and all who have followed and reviewed.
And as per usual, the Colonel & gang are not mine, but belong to the originators of Hogan's Heroes, and CBS and I claim nothing but the OCs and the prose.
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Prologue – What to Get the Man Who Has Everything
Kommandant Wilhelm Klink was in a quandary: what could he possibly give his dearest and only friend for Christmas?
He already knew what the others were getting the American Colonel. The entire camp had pooled their funds and resources to fund the escape of a Jewish family that Schultz knew (the man had been one of his toy model makers) and in gratitude, the man had handcrafted two toy airplanes, a Sopwith Camel and a Fokker Triplane, especially for Hogan.
Such a gift was very meaningful, but he wanted to add to it, something just from him.
But what could show Hogan how much he was cherished? A Christmas Eve dinner, just the two of them? Yes well, certainly, a companionable evening was in order, schnapps and cigars and chess and conversation. But there had to be something else!
What had Hogan said to him but a week gone? "My shopping options are limited."
Unfortunately, the Allied advance on two fronts meant that his shopping options were also limited; even the black market was getting thin on choices. Many things could not be had at any price.
He knocked over some of the envelopes containing the submissions for the Winter Relief Fund, when the perfect idea came to him...
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A Tale of Faerie, by Col. Wilhelm Klink
Long long ago, when I was very small, Großmutter told me many tales of the Old Ones (very short and fierce, touchy), of the Elves called by many names, of the other eldritch folk that lingered beneath the Moon of our ordinary world.
Tales that I believed wholeheartedly.
And now, I wish to pass on this tale of Faerie, and hope you will believe it. Wholeheartedly.
Of course there are people who don't believe in fairy tales – the fools.
It had been an awful weekend at the end of August, 1944.
Our beloved Mother was dead, and now my brother and I had no reason to be civil to each other, playing out old rivalries and foolish petty grievances.
So angry was I by Sunday, I resolved to walk to Dusseldorf. A few miles with one suitcase would not be the death of me, and anything was better than my brother's bickering.
I gathered my things and left without saying good-bye.
Now I did not head straight for the road. Instead, I walked to an ancient grove on our property, sat on a sawn ring, and began to hum an air as old as the grove.
With my luck, I did not expect an answer.
Why should I?
Everyone else was dead; it would serve Germany rightly to lose the last of the Old Ones.
It would serve me rightly, to lose my Godfather.
So it was profoundly unnerving when I felt a hand on my shoulder: "Son of mortals, what ails you?"
"Hob!" The deep voice belonged to a little person; Hob was no more than a metre and a half tall, dark shaggy hair, beetling brows, barrel chested, bearded - a Viking in miniature. As his wont, he wore supple, well tanned leathers in browns, greens and grays, and sturdy boots of the same making. Whether by day or night, it would be difficult to see him if he did not wish to be seen.
We embraced and exchanged all the news we could. Three years apart meant a lot of tales needed telling, mostly on his end. The Old Ones have ways of gathering information that expose the Gestapo as the dangerous imbeciles they are, so Hob knew better than I how the war was going.
Unfortunately, Hob's people were not faring any better than Germany was.
"We have lost another seven families, Youngling. It would have been more, had not your clever Hogan sabotaged a convoy transporting the rest, allowing their escape. Our people will not forget that debt, and he may need our help. Tell him."
"Really? You would trust an outsider? You were nearly shunned for claiming me, and I do not think the Council has gained a kinder view of Men in the years since."
Hob grinned: "You are right; they have not - what is left of them. But Hogan and his men have won the trust and the friendship of all the ancient peoples. They are Edain, as you are, and we do not forget our ties and kinship. Tell him."
I shook my head: "He will not believe me."
"Tell him you have a message from the little man of the Flensheim Road. He will believe."
"Hob! You have been having adventures without me, unfair!" Both of us laughed, an old jest made new.
"And you have been having adventures too. I have marked much of your path through the Mad One's preserve; always, your Hogan has endangered you, but has never failed to bring you home safe. He cares for you my Youngling. Have you revealed your heart to him yet?"
I blushed scarlet; I had never told Hob that I favored the staff and not the distaff - I had never told anyone (and only one person ever guessed) and I had always feared that I would lose Hob's regard if he knew I was not normal in my likings. Unable to speak, I could only shake my head in a despairing negative.
"Ho! do you think it impossible? The impossible is not when the task is done. I love you still, my Youngling, no matter your craving for a man's touch. He will also."
"But, but Hogan is a man's man! Women flock to him like starving pigeons on a loaf of bread in the park. Not even Newkirk has tried, and if any man might gain his love it would be Newkirk, the little thief!
"Jealousy does not suit you. This Newkirk cannot steal what is not owned. Hogan may not know his own mind; his heart has never been tested. Try it and see."
"But then I will surely lose what little liking he has for me!" said I in rising panic.
"Youngling, do you trust his greatness of soul so little? He treats all men as equals, and has learned to treat women with the same respect. He will not despise you. At worst, he will say no, all will remain as it is. For the best, all of your dreams will be won. Is he not worth the greatest risk?" Hob looked at me, smiled and continued: "I see your doubt. Have a blessing then; from sunset to sunrise, all you attempt will succeed. Trust in me, Youngling, even if you do not trust yourself."
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I arrived in the town without incident; Langenscheidt had orders to pick me up at the hotel in Dusseldorf, but I was too restless to stay quietly in the room.
I decided to walk over to the local Rathskeller for a drink, perhaps to forget my sorrows and losses for a bit. A local soldier was being honored for bravery, and a happy crowd might cheer me.
The place was filled to bursting; there was what was considered a band, (a very good violinist and a fine guitar). I could see a very hard used drum kit, hidden in the back of the band stage, and I smiled.
Odd, I should be frowning when I think of Hogan and his antics; instead I smile, almost with pride.
You see, last time I saw a drum kit, Hogan had been trying to start an avalanche with it. I wasn't in the room to see him play, but I could hear him. And I heard the rhythms of an expert. His mission called for him to make a lot of noise; it didn't require him to play with style, to give a concert level drum solo.
But of course, like everything else he does, he is a thorough professional.
I was wishing that he could hear me play my violin; to protect myself, I play poorly, so no one will remember that I am the nephew (by marriage) of Otto Kemplerer, the justly famous violinist, composer and symphonic conductor. Thank God Onkle Otto fled in 1933 with my Aunt (Mother's sister) and my young cousin Werner.
I know all too well now where they would be if they had decided to stay in Germany.
Still their leaving had been a sore point between my father and his brother-in-law, and we had had little news of them since. At least they were all safe in America, which was my mother's only consolation when she understood in her last illness that she would not see her sister again.
Unfortunately, that was not entirely true.
Another sore subject; Werner had enlisted and was fighting for his adopted country, upholding the family honor in a noble cause, while my brother and I bickered over who was doing less for the Third Reich, each accusing the other of cowardice. 'Malingerer' was the insult I had thrown at him before I left, and it was still bitter on my tongue.
Why in the world had I said so dastardly a thing to my own little brother? He had been injured fighting, he had a permanent limp, he had been home caring for Mutti when I could not. This was not Thermopylae, where every man was needed in the defense and one man more or less would make a difference. It is not as if I wanted the Third Reich to win...I did not.
I do not.
I do not want the Third Reich to win.
I want it to lose.
Badly.
So badly, so thoroughly, that it can never ever rise again.
The thought stopped me in my tracks.
I knew when I gave those photographs to Hogan that the Third Reich had gone too far; there is war, and there is terror and there is Evil…those pictures are proof that Germany has gone past all sane boundaries and has brought Hell to Earth.
It would not surprise me if der Fuhrer has made war on Hell and started kidnapping demons to do his bidding.
But I thought it enough to continue to be Hogan's fool, and allow him the fun of manipulating me (besides, I love hearing the outrageous lies he tells, his voice enchantment in my ears), but he has been overwhelmed as of late. Still as successful, to hear Hochstetter rant, but how long can even the fabled Hogan luck hold? He needs help.
My help.
If this war is to end in salvation for anyone, Hogan must have all the help that can be given.
By all.
By me.
I could no longer be passive; I am the last officer of rank in a position to help the Allied cause, the rest are dead.
It takes longer to write this than to think it, but I believe that Hob's blessing had power to it. Otherwise how could I explain that I would have my chance to put my new resolve to the test so quickly?
It must sound quite cliché, but I spotted him across the crowded room. He was a vision in black and red, ruined by an extremely gaudy pin that did not seem to be his taste at all, awkwardly clutching a silver clutch purse. I could not tell in the low light, but I had to assume that he was wearing stockings, and of all the things that I could have been wondering, I was wondering how in the world they found stockings and women's shoes big enough to fit a man of his perfect proportions.
The second thing, no the third (the second? I wondered was why he was not surrounded by horny young men looking for a beautiful woman to spend the time), thing I wondered was what he could be doing here. Dusseldorf was no easy walk, had he come with Langenscheidt? Was he attempting to escape? No, escape was too easy; I was now certain that Hogan could leave anytime he wished.
A mission then.
One he could not entrust to one of the others; if there was a fault in his disguise, it was his height, and he would know that, but deem it an acceptable risk.
The fourth thing I observed, a Gestapo man was looking carefully in Hogan's direction. Oddly, the man was in an SS uniform, one of the dread Totenkopf units, but every instinct I had screamed that this was Gestapo. I cannot explain why, I just knew it.
Whether it was something off (Hogan's perfect maleness warring with a female appearance) or mere lust, the man had his eye on my Senior POW. Hogan was in mortal danger; I sensed that too.
Hogan had to leave, and leave now, but if he left alone, he would be accosted and the instant that Nazi manhandled him...
Only one thing to do.
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I knew it would look too suspicious if I ran straight over, so I went to the musicians first. I pulled twenty marks out of my wallet and told them to play a certain song.
No, not "Gloomy Sunday". It was banned because too many of our soldiers were committing suicide to its strains, and I had no wish to bring the wrath of the Gestapo and SS in the room upon any of our heads.
No, instead, I asked for a song that had been popular even when I was a 'swing kid', although it was not a swing tune, a song known around the world (or at least, they played it often at the Royal before the Great War, where I was a waiter – once served the great Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, and Holmes had given me a better tip than money: "Boy, when the shooting starts, keep moving. Never go back, never look to the back or the sides. Look to your front, lad, and your front only, and you will be the one who lives to tell the tale.")
The song is a favorite of mine, and if I was to make a good impression and save my American Knight, (or would he be a Dame this night? a Dame Knight then), I would need to put my very best foot forward.
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He was just sitting there, not making any trouble...in a world of trouble without trying.
He was looking for trouble, eyes darting about every which way, relaxed but wary.
I walked over to him, as if I were a young Lieutenant again, and so as not to startle, I waited for him to notice me.
I was still rehearsing my introduction in my head when my gaze locked his.
All I saw was his eyes.
They were black.
Black as a midnight sky.
They say that planets, the stars, make a music that is the remnant of the First Music. If you listen very closely, very hard, with you heart as well as your ears, and if you are very lucky, you will hear it.
For once, I was very lucky.
As soon as I could breathe again, I introduced myself, in a simple confident way that somehow I had never managed with a woman before:
"Fraulein, my name is Wilhelm Klink, and I would be very much grateful if you would join me in a dance."
"Umm ahh errr."
"There is no need to fear, my dear Fraulein. No harm will come to you, and I am very good dancer. You have only to follow my lead."
I brought his hand to my mouth for a proper formal greeting, and for once, Hogan was not trying to be funny by lifting his hand up and if I hadn't been holding on, he would have accidentally struck me in the jaw.
I grinned at the near mishap: "It's very kind of you to help, but allow me to do the work tonight."
I pulled him to his feet; it was a wonder that my own legs stayed steady, while I added: "I do hope you like the song, I asked the musicians to play it, just for you."
"For me?" I barely heard the breathy words as the music started.
We were a bit awkward at first, both trying to lead: "Dear Fraulein, I know you have no reason to trust me, but have a bit of faith! I swear, I will lead you truly, here and whenever you give me the opportunity."
By some miracle, I saw he believed me, and once he trusted, we started to waltz effortlessly.
The more we danced, the more it felt like we were the only two in the room.
Perhaps the world.
When I am enjoying myself at dance, I like to sing along, and this night was no exception.
What was the exception was the way Hogan reacted to my words at his temple; he shivered. Of course, this is Colonel Robert E. Hogan. I had inadvertently thrown a gauntlet, and so, my Dame Knight had to answer the challenge.
I honestly did not expect him to sing back. In German.
My bones turn to water and my blood fire whenever Hogan speaks German.
I wondered if he knew what he does to me.
I know he knows it now.
The music stopped, and we were standing there, happy as a pair of loons, when we heard it.
Applause. Shouts of "Bravo" and "Encore".
No praise for the musicians; they were shouting their praises for us.
Hogan trembled, hardly a twitch of his hand in mine, but enough to let me know, the attention was as unexpected as unwelcome.
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I call it nothing else but a miracle.
For once, he did not know what to do, but I did.
"A round of drink for the house! Musicians, again if you please!" I bowed, aristocratic host to the throng, he curtsied (when did HE go to Catholic school?), the music started and if I may say so, the great Astaire and Rogers have met their match in us.
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For the first time in 30 years, I had actually impressed someone that I wanted to impress.
And the night was still young.
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I paid, (and poor Hogan was still so stunned, he did not notice me pocketing his little handbag for safe-keeping) and we nearly made good our escape when a drunken SS Captain turned too quickly and stomped upon Hogan's foot, all but breaking it.
The drunken lout then dared DARED to laugh: "Now Fraulein, a big girl like you had best watch where you put your feet!"
You Americans have a saying, 'seeing red'.
I can now say, quite definitively, it is no mere poetry.
I absolutely saw red, and was between my Dame Knight and my quarry before any of us knew what I was doing.
"Apologize" I demanded.
The lout was sneering at us, at me, at my dear one, a man a hundred times his worth: "To whom? That co"
"Apologize!"
Had I not been so angry, I might have been shocked myself by my tone. As it was, I was too angry to enjoy the fact that for once I made Goring look like a toymaker, as the wicked bully before me crumpled to nothing.
I helped my limping Dame Knight out into the clean night, satisfied that the fool would not be bothering us again.
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I did not see our ride at the door, and I was afraid that we might have to walk back to the hotel in search of our driver. But Hogan was limping, and no matter how stoic, he was in pain.
A pain that I was determined to relieve if I could.
I sat him at the old horse trough, a merry fountain of fine carved stone.
It was an easy matter to care for his foot; nothing broken, thanks to Gott, but a cold compress would bring down the swelling.
As I was treating his foot, I spoke of that which was in my heart, I wanted Hogan to know of the last time I had been given a miracle:
"I was high in the sky, one dark and starry night. I was cold and alone and miserable, the last one alive that awful day, and I was not sure I would be that for much longer. There was a leak in my fuselage, and I was far from certain that I would make it back to my airfield. We had no extra oxygen in the cockpit in those days and were completely open to the elements, so we were told never to fly too high.
"But the stars, dear Fraulein, the stars! They called to me that night, the entire Milky Way a-glow, and I listened to a music that I had never heard before. The music was in my heart, not my ears, but the wind added a harmony that roared around me and numbed my fears away. The beauty of the night sky lifted me up, and my plane too, until it seemed that I was floating, not flying. The hum of the engine faded to nothing, and I was able to reach up and a wisp of cloud broke into a thousand sparkles of light at my fingertips.
"I flew on, on that pathway of light, surrounded, embraced, I dare say enchanted, now no sound at all in my ears, when the sparks of night faded and the sun cleared a runway to my base.
"I had never had a more perfect landing.
"And there was no fuel in my engine, nor a drop of oil left. Yet the plane's mechanics were unharmed, and the broken fuselage easily repaired. My plane flew true and carried me safely for the rest of the war.
"But I have never seen the stars so bright since that night, when they saved my life. Until tonight."
"Tonight, Sir?" I have seen Hogan every day for two years, but never have I seen him so lost as now.
"Tonight, Fraulein. Tonight, we are in enemy territory, as I was so long ago. Tonight, I was cold and alone and miserable, the only one of all my comrades whom I have known, respected, cared for, left alive. Then I saw you, and once again heard the music of the night sky in my heart. And now, you are crowned and mantled with all the stars of the Heavens, and see here! how all the fountain's waters sparkle in the starlight.
"And THAT is a clear sign that we may proceed in safety home."
I removed and re-wrapped the compress around his foot, then slipped the shoe on.
My own Aschenputtel.
"Who are you, and what have you done with Kommandant Klink?"
That won a laugh from me. I looked up and saw not mockery, but wonder in his eyes, dark with surprise and lit with stars. Had I turned into a Prinze, then? Nay, my Fae guardian had no glamour left for me, I was still only Klink. But I could not forbear kissing his left knee as I rose and then pulled him to his feet: "My dear, you have no idea."
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It was then that our chauffeur arrived: "Herr Kommandant, please excuse me, I have been looking all over town," and Langenscheidt's voice died, looking as if I were a stranger that he had mistaken for another – could Hob have truly enchanted me?
"Ah, well, you have found me and no time was wasted. We will go back to the Stalag and get you home."
And home we needed to go; there were several loitering Gestapo looking at us strangely. Perhaps der Fuhrer had outlawed kindness and civility while I was in the country: "I will take you where you need to go; there are too many who wish you ill for me to not take every precaution. You will be safe with me."
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"You will be safe with me," I said, and I was bending every bit of knowledge that I possessed to make that statement true.
So I instructed our good Corporal: "We will take the lady home by the Flensheim Road," ignoring his stunned gaping. We were taking a chance, a risk, but I found that I had faith in Langenscheidt's ability to get us through the quagmire the road had become presently. It was safer than allowing the Gestapo to follow us unimpeded.
Here, I must confess: I would love to take credit for frightening the Gestapo away by showing Hogan my favorite constellations out of the rear window, but I cannot. I really just wanted Hogan to know that I was not always a boring incompetent fool, so I was showing off. It was pure luck that the Gestapo did not wish to be seen following us, and so they let us get too far ahead, foiling their intent.
I also would have fiendishly enjoyed romancing and making advances at my Dame Knight; after all 'turn about is fair play' and I have been the butt of many of Hogan's pranks and jokes. Instead, I found that I wanted Hogan to be comfortable with me. I wanted him to like me. So, I was the perfect gentleman, offering only friendly conversation. If that included two Panzer divisions, Duisburg, Army B and Krefeld, what was the harm? After all, who could he tell, London?
"Langenscheidt, you did go to the hotel first, to retrieve my things?"
"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant, everything is in the boot."
"Excellent, Corporal. It would have made it awkward to have to go back to town for the gift."
Both of my companions: "Gift?"
"Gift."
I love confusing Hogan; now I know why he finds it so enjoyable when he does it to me.
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There is a small farmer's lane about a few kilometres away from our Stalag, so I instructed Langenscheidt to follow it: "I thought it best to take you straight home, or as near as I can manage. The road was so much worse than I thought and the hour is late, too late to invite you for a nightcap without worrying your family. I am sure that we both have a long workday ahead tomorrow." As badly as I wished to prolong the evening, I knew that his 'family' would become anxious. Newkirk especially. Frankly, I do not wish either of us to deal with an anxious Newkirk.
About half way up the track, I told Langenscheidt to stop: "I'm afraid that if we go further, the car will become stuck. But I am sure that you will make it safely home from here. Corporal, please open the boot, I need that gift now."
Hogan was so far beyond his ken, he was babbling (or perhaps he was deep within his role of the shy, polite Fraulein, who must not accept gifts from strangers): "Please dear Fraulein! I have no one to please, no one to care for, no one with whom to spend my pay. Let me at least give you a very small token of my esteem, something that may aid you, something that you may be able to use and think of me." We could not speak freely, as I do not wish to incriminate Langenscheidt, but I need him to have this, as it may save him on his next foray.
I handed him a bottle of Eau de Cologne (the other brand, No. 4711, is more associated with the Navy and the SS officers seem to favor it and I want nothing of them on him): "Open it my dear, carefully,"
I explained: "You see, your parfume has been intriguing me all evening long and I realized the scent was bay rum. Now you are assuredly free to wear any scent you like, but it might in close quarters prove awkward. With this local essence, you might blend in better."
From the look on his face, it was clear he had arrived at the same conclusion as I.
Good. He accepts the help and the gift.
Now to convince him of the rest.
"Fraulein, I am certain this is not the last we will see of each other. You work hard, perhaps too hard, and in these hard times, it is no shame to seek help. Please, allow me to help. You, and your family, need a friend, and I fear that I am all that is left since July. Please. I would gladly die to help you and yours."
My Dame Knight was oddly silent, then...
"I am sooo sorry, could you please repeat that?"
"Woolgathering?"
"Yes, I am sorry, I don't usually lose myself like that, but such a generous gift and so unexpected"
I dismissed his concern: "Think nothing of it, it is my pledged duty to protect you" and then I mumbled, "even from yourself" then louder "and you deserve something nice for yourself on such a special day. Well, I must be off."
I expected naught more than a handshake; what should I expect? Hogan still had his mission to complete, and he would surely require some time to ponder the meaning of my offer under its fair cloak.
To then say I was, was well was, um what is that strange word you Americans use? Ah yes! Flabbergasted! I was flabbergasted when Hogan near shouted:
"Hey! What about my good-night kiss?"
When I said nothing, what could I say, I thought I had been struck by lightning, he repeated:
"You heard me. What about it?"
"On a first date?" (there IS a God and he does not hate me).
"Sure, that's what makes it official," he nodded.
"Well then, far be it from me, not to make it...'official'. "
I clasped both my hands around his and brought our lips together.
I knew this was my one chance, perhaps my only chance, to tell you how much you mean to me. I held nothing back. My every thought, my every prayer, my every hope that I might have for you, for me, for us, was in my kiss.
My Robert...please take it. Please take me. I know I am not very much of a gift, but I am all I have to give. I am the widow's mite, do with me what you will. I give myself to you for the use of you and yours. And I renounce utterly and forever this evil Third Reich. I will not support a fatherland that torments his wife and leaves his children in misery.
Then I did the hardest thing I have ever done; I stopped. I waited.
Waited for my Dame Knight.
I would wait, will wait, forever.
After all, I have waited a lifetime, what matter a few minutes more?
And then, I knew.
There IS a God, and he does not hate me.
My Dame Knight, my Hogan, my Robert.
Kissed me back.
Were it a competition, I judge it a tie; you loved me as I love you.
No man can ask for more, nor better.
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It was our forgotten driver who suddenly decided to remind us that we were not in Brocéliande: "Herr Kommandant?" was all he said.
It was enough.
My control would have shattered had the feelings lasted a moment more. As it was, I could not help kissing each of his clever fingers before letting go.
"Be safe," I said, "And thank you. For everything."
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I ran up the steps of the Kommandantur, all but breaking the door in my haste to get in. I stood in my living quarters, stood there, panting, while Langenscheidt placed my bag in my bedroom and left, staring at me all the while.
Poor fellow was confused too.
I stood there, amazed at my night.
Amazed at myself.
But I must bring myself back to Earth; I must act normally.
I must go meet with Hogan; no matter the hour, I always do. But I must give him time. Perhaps I will play my violin?
No! Far better! I gave Hogan's gift to my Fraulein - now, there was time to give him something from me.
Something that he would like, just because he would like it.
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I barged in as soon as I could, and nearly caught Mills and Shurtlieff not pretending to sleep, (their bunk is closest to his door).
Of course, he pretended to be asleep.
Of course, I pretended that I was waking him up.
Of course, we both pretended that this was the first time we had seen each other all this night long.
Of course, and naturally, we tried to pretend that nothing had happened, business as usual.
Naturally, we failed.
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I knelt by his side, pretending to rouse him as was my wont, my hand on his shoulder.
I was waiting for his usual quip, but it never came.
He opened his eyes, and looked into mine.
Not a thing said, we merely looked.
Then, my Hogan smiled a crooked smile.
I thought my heart would break.
He knew.
Even if he did not yet understand, he knew.
And that was enough.
I looked away to return the purse to him. He would come back to his usual self shortly and there was no need to ruin the evening with needless distress. I pressed the purse into his hand, then got up and walked back to the door. Before I left, I said, "There's a little something in there for you. I had a better gift, but I gave it away, to one who needed it more. You understand. Still, it is the thought that counts. Happy Birthday."
As I was leaving, Hogan's voice followed: "Wait! Um ah, I'll let you know. Oh and thanks, thank you I mean. For everything."
He understood.
And that was better.
Not an ending, a new fairy tale beginning.
Of course there are people who don't believe in fairy tales – the fools.
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Epilogue 2 – Turning in the Homework, part 2
Christmas Eve, 1944
Hogan looked up from the paper; he looked solemn: "You really do mean it; I'm your fella?"
Klink opted for simplicity: "Yes."
"Then I think it's time to make it official."
Hogan could hear Klink gulp: "Official?"
"Official." Hogan's trademark smirk was in place as he took Klink's hand. They walked into the bedroom and into the future and into legends.
Officially.
The End?
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A/N: Since I am taking Snooky's advice and adding this to my original tale, I would like to thank dust on the wind, FireLordCastiel, Snooky and GuardGirl2 for reviewing the previous chapter.
Aschenputtel is the German version of Cinderella, and yes, I did go there and drag in Conan-Doyle, Hellboy, and Tolkien.
Also, there will be another chapter, to tie up a loose end and cause another...all part of the master plan...bbbaahhhwwwwahahahaha!